


rent ain't cheap (for a 1x1 property)

by pvwork



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Motorcycles, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pvwork/pseuds/pvwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you have to pay a lot just to make the littlest something of all.</p><p>Summaries in chapter title. Complete drabbles/one-shots and forever-WIPs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kuroo/Kenma, non-binary characters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions dysphoria.

You try it twice on the foyer, once in the kitchen, and then finally settle in the bathroom. 

The first time, he’s got his Gameboy Color in his hands as you tilt his head this way and that. You comb the dye into his hair with care. The air is thick with the smell of it, ammonia and false sweetness to mask the bitterness of change. He hardly moves at all when you move his head with gentle touches, only shifting his arms to keep the screen of the Gameboy visible while you try to get the color to stick fast and true to his dark hair. 

“Shouldn’t you be keeping that somewhere safe?” you say. “It’s practically an antique.” 

“You’re an antique,” Kenma mutters. He keeps playing, thumbs pressing and smashing to some undefined beat. The rhythm of the game remains undisturbed and you take a moment to tug at the disposable gloves you’re wearing. The dye stains your fingers too, making them not your own as you finish up on the last few sections of Kenma’s hair. It’s no longer the same color as the sleek, black fur of that cat that lives down the street. He’s got streaks of gray and yellow swimming through his chin length bob now.

“Besides, it’s still good to use. That’s what makes it a classic, old but useful.” 

You grin at him and help him stand. He’s wearing an old shirt of yours, the shoulders splattered with dye and other unmentionables. It’s big on him and drapes across his hips in bunches and folds when he sits. He gets on his tiptoes while you lean down, and lets you press kisses to his nose, his eyelids, both sides of his lips. When you start to pull away, his hand unoccupied by his Gameboy snaps out to pull you back down again so you’re lips are pressed fully together for a bright, burning second. You ignore the smell of dye in favor of relishing the give of his lips under yours. 

“Old but useful,” Kenma repeats when you straighten and you laugh out loud. The wind gusting around the building blows away the last of the smell surrounding you as you open the sliding door and gesture for him to enter first. 

The second time on the foyer, the wind nearly blows away the tray of dye you’ve mixed. You catch it by smacking your palm into the middle of it all and slamming it back down onto the table. It would have been a great block on the volleyball court.

Half of the dye splatters on you, and you end up looking like a serval. This new dappled version of yourself blurs at the edges like a mirage. Camouflage at it’s finest. 

Kenma’s got a PSP in his hand this time and video game grade gunshots are coming from the speakers. “Maybe not as useful as I thought,” he says and you pout unattractively in response. He sighs and stands. His roots are still a jet black color that makes your dye coated fingers itch. He wipes at a dark spot splashed across your chin. 

“It’s fine. We can do this some other time. You know I don’t mind, standing out a little, in this small way. Come get cleaned up,” he says, opening the door for you this time. 

Standing out in some ways means being picked on. You’re furious that there’s nothing you can do except promise him next year, next time. He’s gotten good good at reading people and avoiding bullies, but you wish, fiercely, that he wouldn’t have to. 

You want to take a stand, stubbornly, because you want to deal with the fallout. You want to ask him what’s so wrong about wanting something so badly you’d do anything to make it happen. Protecting him has always been the priority. 

He sidesteps issues, waits for them to solve themselves when his favorite games are puzzles that are meant to be solved by _him_. You tend to take things head on, a ‘bring it and I’ll block it with my own hands mentality’ drives you, but it’s not that simple, you remind yourself now. It’s not that simple and there’s no ball to send falling back onto the other side of the net out here. 

You sigh as you strip out of your shirt and use it to wipe at the mess on your arm, your pants. You brush past him shirtless, and you grin when you feel his hand reach out to smooth down the curve of your spine.

“I like to think I’m a pretty young thing,” you say, sauntering towards the bathroom that’s as familiar as your own. You’ve slept over a lot, in fact, you slept over last night and woke tangled up in Kenma this morning. His hair had spilled across your shared pillow and reminded you of the coat of a calico, spotty and smooth. The patchy color was nothing more than a faint hiccup in the grand scheme of things. 

Kenma is waiting for you when you walk out of the shower nearly in the buff, a fluffy towel around your waist, and water dripping onto the floor because you always forget to dry your hair. 

He’s got a towel for your hair, and a kiss for your lips.

You let him back you onto his bed. You fall into sheets he hasn’t made in ages and he kisses you so slowly. 

The towel that was valiantly trying to preserve your modesty minutes ago is somewhere on the ground in a sad heap. Kenma’s arms are around you and he looks down at you with his big golden eyes, curious and loving. 

“Tetsu,” he whispers

“Kenma,” you say easily. The uneasiness in your chest lightens a bit. This will last a little longer still. You are not the only one with your fingers clutched tightly onto this string drawn taut between the two of you, your heart on the line as you hope for more time, more of this closeness you want to curl up around and never wake up from. 

His smile is a lovely shared secret between the two of you.

That time in the kitchen isn’t worth mentioning. There was a kitchen sink and a stick of butter and that’s all anyone ever needs to remember.

The first time in the bathroom is just you standing behind Kenma’s sitting form and watching yourself bleach his hair in reverse. Right to left to left to right.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” Kenma says. 

His neatly painted fingernails reflect black and silver at you. They’ve caught the unforgiving light of the mirror’s lights, every single bulb set to high as you dye his hair the color of caramel toffee, rich and sweet. You’ve been staying over for days now, occasionally texting your parents to show that you’re still alive. As long as you do all your school work, they don’t mind how close you are to someone as quiet and good as Kenma. 

They figure you can’t get in trouble with him. Well, they’re right, but you honestly wouldn’t mind getting into trouble with him by your side. 

You’re wearing disposable gloves again, but through the clear plastic you can see the blood orange shine of your own nails, muted by this second skin slathered in dye, but no less brilliant for it. 

“Yeah? Well, you look good like this,” you say.

“It’s about control.” He shrugs modestly and your hands become gentler, more careful as you smooth in the dye. 

“I know” you whisper. 

Kenma looks down at his hands and he nods. It’s always been about trying controlling who you are and expressing things that you’re afraid to say aloud while you’re heart screams itself hoarse with _knowing_. Some days, neither of you feel like boys, and other days, both of you feel like boys. There are days when neither of you have words for who you want to be, and on some of those days, Kenma will call you if you’re not at his house already, doing homework together on the big dining room table, to say casually, “I think my roots could use some touching up.” 

And you’ll say, “I’ll see what I can do.” 

The last time in the bathroom is that one that you’ll always remember. 

“So we’re really breaking up.”

You see the cracks now and they grow bigger. Fissures and cavernous distance erupting between you as surely as tectonic plates do move. You and Kenma are standing on different ones drifting apart as an ocean floods the spaces you once occupied together. You both want different things in the end. What they are, you’re not quite sure, but you know that what he wants out of life and what you want are no longer one and the same.

“Yes,” Kenma says. 

“We’ll still be best friends, right?”

“Of course.” He says it so firmly you have to believe him. He’s rarely so adamant about anything, but he’s adamant about you and that’s how you know that despite the distance, you’ll throw that message in a bottle and he’ll pick it up from the shores of his island, write a reply, and throw it right back into the ocean for you to see when it arrives at your feet. 

He turns and you make an unhappy sound as his hair slips away. You were half done dying the bleached strands. Now, half his head is a washed out kind of yellow, while the other half is the warm, full color you’ve so carefully mixed for him. You’ve finally perfected the method. His hands are cradling your hips, palms warm and gentle through the fuzzy waistband of your sweats. 

You remember being good with him, but now you realize that you can’t see a future where you are good together. 

“We just want different things.” 

“We do, don’t we?” you say, looking down at his eyes shot through by light. You’ve seen those eyes express different things in countless different ways. Baby crows-feet stamped into the corners when he gives a small smile. Downcast and dejected after another shitty day of practice. Tiny half-moons brimming with joy as he clutches a new game to his chest once he gets home, finally letting his face show how his heart is feeling. 

He does that, for you now. 

Shows you with his eyes how he’s sorry that you want different things. But it’s a good reminder too, of how close you will always be. You’ll always be reading him carefully, always be watching for his message in a bottle, always be looking for him, and maybe, someday, some other island with bump into yours, moved the way tectonic plates a wont to do, but you’ll always have Kenma just on the other shore, patient and present. 

“Yes.”

He turns back now, and you finish dying his hair. This is dye will stay true for the first few weeks, but when you’re young, like the two of you are, the days will drag and you’ll see Kenma during what will feel like an endless number of lunches, finger twirling a strand of his hair sometimes and smiling at how unfamiliar it is. In a few weeks, the dye will wash out, no matter how careful Kenma is with it, no matter how good the shampoo and conditioner is. In a few months, his roots will grow out, just to prove he’s alive to the world. 

Some things aren’t meant to last.


	2. Kageyama/Sugawara, biker gang AU

“Get on the bike, prospect!” Suga shouts. 

Kageyama comes running out of the garage full pelt, his arms and legs pumping as he races Hinata across the parking lot. They jostle each other on the way over and, by some miracle, Kageyama out reaches Hinata to brush his fingers against the tank of Suga’s beautiful candy red harley. 

“First!” Kageyama shouts. 

Hinata groans in defeat and the sound is music to Kageyama’s ears as he climbs onto the bike behind Suga.

“I’m sure Daichi won’t mind giving you a ride,” Suga says not unkindly. The whole lineup of bikes take off in a whirlwind of dust and dirt. The lot empties out in seconds. The only traces anyone had ever been here were the plumes of exhaust that were quickly dispersing. 

“Well,” Kageyama says, “there’s always the trike.” He says the words very unkindly and Hinata throws him a dirty look as he runs back into the garage only to appear seconds later riding a child’s tricycle with a motor spinning the bike chains at a pace that can only be described as _allegretto_.

Suga might have laughed, but the sound is lost to the wind as Kageyama fumbles on his helmet once they hit the main road. 

*

In another life, Kageyama might have been a genius at anything else, but in this one, he’s only very good at a specific set of tasks that all happen to pertain to being in a motorcycle club. 

Kageyama watches as Suga’s right hand closes into a tight fist. He looks up at the man blocking the back door leading into the warehouse and thinks about all the different ways he could take him down without using the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. There are more ways including the gun, but. 

“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Suga says. 

“You’re asking for trouble,” the bear of a man growls. He tries to loom over Suga, which isn’t hard, but Suga doesn’t look intimidated as he smiles brightly and says, “Please. Let us through. My friend and I have been having a rough day and aren’t looking for excuses to turn down a fight.” 

Before Guard Bear even has a chance to fully unfold his arms and shove Suga down the steps leading up to the back door, Kageyama shoots out his kneecaps. 

Suga had already turned away by this point, so blood only splatters across his boots, dark pants, and jacket. His skin is still pale and clean as he turns to smile a genuine, warm and sweet smile at Kageyama. If pointless displays of violence were the way to woo a man...

“You really didn’t have to.” 

“I wanted to.”

The collapsed figure howls. Suga raises a steel toed boot and kicks him in the face, once, twice, three times until he’s a quiet, groaning mess on the ground. 

Suga crouches down and Kageyama watches impassively. “My crew had a deal with your’s,” Suga says. His tone is casual. He looks disinterested as he stares at the bloodied face at his feet. “Why are you trying to keep us out?” 

There’s no answer, so Suga rises and sighs at the wet patches on his jacket. 

“At least it didn’t get on your cut,” Kageyama says. Suga plucks at the leather vest bearing the patch of their club on its back and shrugs. 

“This was my formal leather jacket.” 

Suga waves his hand for Kageyama to climb the last few steps so that they’re standing just before the door. “Doesn’t matter,” Suga says to no one in particular. “We’ll see whatever is they’re hiding in a minute.” 

Kageyama leans down and Suga tilts his head up obligingly until their lips meet in a rough kiss. Their teeth knock together and it hurts a little, but only enough to remind them that they’re alive. Suga licks at the seams of Kageyama’s lips. He tastes like the spearmint gum he’s been chewing. The adoring words Kageyama never says slides right off of his tongue and onto Suga’s as their tongues touch. When they break apart, Suga grins up at him, his eyes glittering as he takes a crowbar out of his knapsack and hands it to Kageyama. 

“The honor is all yours, Tobio.”


	3. Kuroo, Daichi, boy band AU

Battle of the Trash Heap means running eyeliner and thick mascara and glam rock punk-chic.

Daichi would be uncomfortable with amount of fishnet wrapped around his chest if it wasn’t specifically in this context that he was doing it in. 

The rest of Karasuno looks sparkly and artfully tousled. From across the dressing room, Daichi hears the delighted shriek of a hairdresser who has to do nothing more than spray a generous amount of hair spray in the general direction of Kuroo Tetsurou’s legendary hair. 

“Do you think he does that on purpose?” Daichi finds himself asking aloud. He respects Kuroo’s gravity defying hair, but even he has to wonder if the effort of maintaining such an updo while living the high octane lifestyle of an active member of a popular boy band was really worth it. 

“He admitted in an interview that he’s looking for a way to get rid of it,” Hinata shrieks from the chair next to his. 

Daichi looks pointedly at the clippers that had been buzzing by his ear just minutes ago and back at Hinata. 

“Don’t be jealous, Sawamura,” A voice says from behind him. “My hair is just naturally luscious.” 

Daichi tries to suppress a manly yelp. He only has to look at Suga’s grinning face to know that he’s failed miserably. 

“Kuroo, I didn’t know you would be joining us,” Daichi says. His last ditch attempt at salvaging what dignity he has left falls flat in the face of Kuroo’s raised right eyebrow, tilted at such an angle so as to produce maximum skepticism. 

“We’re performing on the same stage today.” 

“Yes, I know.” 

“How could you forget?” 

“I didn’t!”

“So you knew I would be joining you. 

“Technically, yes,” Daichi says. He’s tries to scowl convincingly at Kuroo, but his ribbing doesn’t actually bother Daichi that much, and he’s always been an awful actor. 

Kuroo smiles winningly and asks, “Want to get married?” 

This time, the sound that leaves Daichi’s mouth is loud enough to make a quite few people turn his way. He waves away their stares to show that he’s not in any real danger and turns to Kuroo. Maybe he’s in a little danger. Daichi is afraid his eyebrows are threatening to fly off his face. 

“Pardon?” The only thing more surprising now would be if his eyebrows _weren’t_ orbiting the earth.

“We’d be on that reality show that remakes reality shows.” 

“Oh, right." 


	4. Sugwara/Asahi/Nishinoya, shotgunning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drug use.

After Koushi finished eating soggy cereal out of a tupperware bowl, he made his way over to Asahi. Asahi who was laying on the couch, blowing smoke into the air in little plumes like the hulking dragon he was. The joint in his hand was gripped loosely between two fingers and when Koushi approached, he grinned.

The cherry tip threw his face into sharp relief in the dank darkness of the warehouse-cum-clubhouse. Somewhere else in the darkness clothes, were being shucked off and barely muffled groans could be heard. 

Yuu couldn't be bothered, too interested in the matching grins Koushi and Asahi were wearing. They were giving each other besotted looks, eye-fucking like there was no tomorrow. It was a good look for them. 

“How’s it going, Ace?” Koushi asked. 

“Better with you here.” 

“Give me some sugar?” Koushi asked in a coaxing tone.

Asahi took a hit and turned up to kiss Koushi. When Koushi finally finally broke away, he breathed a plume of smoke from his nose and giggled. His eyes were very gentle as he looked down at Asahi. 

Yuu grinned when Koushi beckoned him over, crawling on socked feet to where they were. 

“Do me! Do me next,” he exclaimed in a hushed whisper-shout. Koushi leaned down to say something quietly into Asahi’s ear that made him blush, grinning impishly at Yuu as he leaned back. 

Asahi took another hit and kissed Koushi open mouthed and hot, the slide of their red tongues was evident even through the smoke, like the coals of a banked fire slipping into view amidst a swirl of ash. Koushi breathed it all in and smiled sweetly at Yuu. He leaned forward eagerly to kiss him. Their lips moved, and smoke rose like it was pouring forth from uncertain depths.

It was good to be in love sometimes.

Yuu sighed sad, wavering smoke rings into the air. He then pushed forward again to kiss Koushi in earnest, his hands tracing along Koushi’s shoulders. Abruptly, he pressed a familiar fresh bruise that had Koushi hissing. Yeah, Yuu was pretty proud of this one. He had matching bruises on his knees from this morning's round of vertical tango. What could he say, he was a giver and bruises were the best gift, a kind of pain that you could bounce back from and only really hurt you when you wanted them too, a stretch and burn that was like the promise of sex but maybe, that was just Yuu.

“Rude,” Koushi sighed, like he wasn't really bothered. The high was sinking into Yuu's bones, making his head feel heavy and his limbs move out of sync with his head. It was good that he could just lay here and close his eyes, listen to two hearts beat out a rhythm that let the pitter patter of his own little blood pumper dance right along to their steady beats.

Things should always be this easy.


	5. Kuroo/Daichi, spectrum slide, painting nails

first, daichi lines up her chosen bottle of polish and other necessities in front her on the coffee table. then, she taps play on her laptop and her bioengineering professor’s latest podcast starts up as she begins the ritual process of painting her nails. 

she places a drop of polish onto the swell of the white half moon at the bed of her fingernail and then sweeps the brush towards the tip of her finger. she drags the excess along each side of the first stroke and before long the effects of her work reveals itself. 

her nails look like she’s reached into someone’s chest cavity and torn their heart right out with her bare hands. red has always been kuroo's color, so it feels like daichi is wearing her sign. the thought makes something warm curl around her heart. she decides to ignore the streakier details and caps the bottle of polish. 

that color looks nice, kuroo says, passing daichi on her way to open a second window to try and air out the room a bit. i should hope so, daichi mutters as she applies a layer of clear polish to her pinky finger, this stuff was expensive but the formula is so worth it.

are you up for a study break? kuroo asks a little later after she’s powered through two episodes of her weekly drama. daichi is nearly done listening to the hour and half long lecture anyway and her nails are mostly dry. 

looking up, daichi receives a lazy smile from kuroo, whose sleep shirt is slipping over her shoulder and whose eyes fairly gleam with mischief. daichi smiles back and says, i guess i could make some time for you. 

kuroo fucks the same way she paints her nails: with intense focus and very steady hands. 

daichi gasps and clutches the headboard. her back is a tightly strung bow. her thighs shake under kuroo’s firm grip, the bruised plum color of kuroo’s nails seep into her skin and mark her thighs with tiny crescents of color. daichi squeezes her eyes shut. kuroo swirls her tongue along her clit and traces her with a gentle touch.

hurry up, hurry up, daichi breathes as kuroo takes her mouth away to smirk up at her from between her legs. the sight of her wet cheeks and the pleased little glance she shoots daichi makes her ache, makes her want with such ferocity that it feels like she’s going to shake apart before she even comes again she’s so close to the edge and kuroo is so dear to her heart. 

kuroo draws out a low, winded sound from daichi when she finally pushes her fingers into her, tracing patterns along her skin. 

a half surprised, half relieved oh falls from daichi’s lips. it makes her hips stutter to a rhythm she doesn’t know, but has kuroo smiling into the place where her leg meets her hip after she’s shuddering through something that has her throwing her head back in silent wonder as her eyes slam shut, back arching to match the brilliant curve of the waning moon, tightened grasp on the headboard of their shared bed turning her knuckles white hot. 

daichi draws in a quiet breath when she finally returns to herself, opens her eyes slowly, and rolls away. kuroo looks radiant sprawled across the top of their rumpled sheets. she says in a soft voice, hey, when daichi reaches out to touch the fragile cage of her ribs, kiss the peaks of her breasts, smooth her hands along her gently heaving sides, and oblige kuroo with a bruising kiss that has their teeth clinking like porcelain chips, their tongues touching shyly like this was their first time. 

kuroo makes her feel young, makes the colors of her world bright, makes her heart race like it was gunning for first place at the indy 500 like that. 

hey, kuroo says again, pupils lust blown and voice is a little hoarse as she continues, are your nails dry yet? because if they are, would you mind returning the favor?


	6. Akaashi/Bokuto, baseball AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daiya no Ace/Ace of Diamond crossover.

It’s spring. The sakura blossoms are blooming, and Fukurodani’s baseball club is recruiting.

Kotaro sees him after warming up with the other regulars. He’s standing in a clump first years, his shoulders tight and his lips set into a grim line. Like the others, his form seems to buzz with excitement and nerves in equal measure. 

Kotaro goes and does the only the only thing he can think of: he strides over to the fence, leans close, and introduces himself.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t be shy,” Kotaro continues. “Our club is full of really friendly guys!”

It feels like a job well done when all the first years file onto the pitch, their eagerness to prove themselves finally shining through in the wide grins and furtive glances as they take in the expanse of the green. The squeak of their excited voices sound like the chirps of a flock of birds. 

Falling into step with this mysterious first year who’s caught his eye, Kotaro smiles in what he hopes is a friendly manner. 

He’s only breathless from the running he’s done around the diamond, and nothing more, he swears. 

The other boy looks a little uncomfortable in his own skin, but the thinned line of his lips are easing into a softer expression. He looks determined. He looks driven to succeed and guarantee himself a spot on the team. Kotaro likes that.

He likes the quiet confidence gathered around this first year, like a mantle of feathers, folded up around him and seconds away from snapping open to take him into the skies.

“I’m gonna be the ace this year,” Kotaro blurts out.

“Really.” He sounds _so_ unimpressed. 

It just fires up Kotaro even more, so that this year he will definitely become the ace of Fukurodani! 

“Hey, hey, hey I know I’m going to!” 

The only reaction he has is to smile at Kotaro, slow and knowing like he’s onto something that Kotaro isn’t. 

The nerve of this kid. 

Everyone lines up, shoulder to shoulder and starts introductions upon request. The set of his shoulders is much less severe now. 

“First year, Akaashi Keiji. My preferred position is catcher. Please take good care of me.”

Akaashi already looks good on the field, Kotaro thinks, but that he would look even more excellent in white, gold, and silver. 

“There’s going to be a lot of expectations riding on your shoulders when you make it ont--” Kotaro cuts his sentence short because Akaashi is grinning at him, hooded eyes hiding a sharp gaze that cuts to the core of Kotaro’s hopes. 

“Is it possible that you were going to say that when I made it onto the team, that I would have a lot to deal with? One of the biggest problems being you?” 

Kotaro desperately backpedals and nearly flings himself into a bin of baseballs. “Oh ho ho no! Why would I say that?”

It’s as he’s trying to avoid the indignant players behind him and the awkward edges of the ball bin next to him, that he’s hit with a thought so abrupt that it makes it knocks the wind of out him. It feels like that time he took a slider to the gut, back when he had still wanted to be a cleanup hitter. 

“Are you saying you don’t want to form a battery?” Akaashi asks, scuffing his cleats into the ground as if he’s very disinterested in the way Kotaro is red as a lobster even though temperatures are mild today. 

“I--wouldn’t be opposed to the prospect if you actually made the team, first year!” Kotaro manages and then does the single smoothest thing he has and ever will do, which is trip into a bin full of baseballs, knock over the ball machine, and then tangle himself into a net.

“I’ll do my best,” Akaashi says. 

Kotaro just lays there for a moment staring at his retreating form outlined by the morning sun. He feels with such certainty that this is the boy who will make calls to him when he’s an ace on the pitcher’s mound, that he’s not even embarrassed when Konoha comes over and looks down at him with a pitying expression. 

“How can you become the ace when you’re so clumsy?” 

“I’m going to do it! You know that I’ve been working on my ball control and everything!”

“Oh, I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Kotaro smiles as Konoha helps him untangle himself from the net. He pops up to his feet and straightens the net. Then he puts on his baseball glove, picks up one of the balls that have rolled to a stop by his feet and begins to wind up. 

He knows that this pitch, he’ll show that he has truly improved. It will be like all the stars aligning to mark a moment in history. It will be like all the puzzle pieces falling into place to solve a mystery. Kotaro has all that he needs to be ace. 

“Hey, don’t just start practice now! Straighten everything up and then go run for the rest of the day, Bokuto. You’re obviously not awake to practice with anything substantial today.” 

Kotaro sighs and drops his things off before starting to jog towards the fence. Tracing the outline of the field for the next hour or so was going to be a bummer, but as he passes Akaashi, he gets a small smile for his troubles and it’s almost worth it. Kotaro tips his cap back a little and jogs onwards. He had a long ways to run, but the view up ahead held a lot of promise.


	7. Akaashi/Daichi, college AU, science bros

There’s a blackout.

It’s hot as a balls inside the tall dorm buildings without the ac’s running. Four bodies in one room is too much body heat for such a small space. Daichi wanders out onto the lawn like the others, trailing a blanket behind him, his used physics textbook tucked under his arm like a precious baby. He lives on the tenth floor, and there was no way he was staying inside to roast. 

The last of an indian summer greets him, a blast of dry air running hot hands along his face and ruffling his hair. 

He takes up a spot under a lamp, blanket spread out under him as he uncaps his highlighter with his teeth and cracks open his textbook. 

“Don’t do that,” a voice says from his left. “That’s bad for your teeth.”

“What,” Daichi mutters as he turns to see a familiar face. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Akaashi Keiji says. He’s got dark strands of hair curling at his temple while the rest of him is framed in washed out white light by the street lamp hovering so high above them. His hair is buzzed short at his nape, so the regal arch of his neck is apparent as he turns to look at Daichi curiously. 

“You too.” 

“Not really. I always knew I was going to go into botany.” 

“Really?”

“Sure,” Akaashi says. He holds up his own textbook and a picture of a sad looking great horned owl stares back. “Ecology this semester.” 

“Physics,” Daichi says holding up his own book. 

It’s the start of something that will remained unnamed for a long time. They spend the rest of the night working through their readings side by side, occasionally complaining about one thing or another. 

The stars aren’t visible because of the light pollution problem the city has, but when the lights come on all at once it’s like seeing the skyline light up with a million beautiful points of possibility. Daichi feels like he’s missed a chance when Akaashi closes his book and stands up. 

“Here,” Akaashi says, as a piece of paper flutters down into Daichi’s lap. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

He grins and closes his own book. Daichi clutches the piece of paper with his hands very tightly and types the numbers written on it into his phone in an overly careful way.

*

“Botany?” 

“Everything is interconnected,” Akaashi says. He’s sitting in on Daichi’s math lecture and being an awful distraction. It’s a good thing the professor podcasts his lectures or else Daichi would be fucked for the upcoming midterm. He hadn’t written anything down except a caption or two for a few of the surprisingly crude doodles Akaashi had drawn in his notebook. “Measuring the world is what we do. Accuracy is shit sometimes, so you gotta be there personally to make sure everything is done right.”

“Burettes,” Daichi says. They both sigh. Burettes are evil. 

“Yeah, like that. Gotta make sure no one fucks up too badly,” Akaashi says.

He swears a lot more than Daichi remembers, but he doesn’t exactly remember much. His only impressions of Akaashi from high school were of him being a quiet and steady setter, reliable in the face of an unstable ace. He swears with such ease. It’s kind of endearing, the way he doesn’t seem to notice how he eases up with people he’s familiar with, lets his mouth run and his eyes grow sharp because he’s so passionate about the subject matter.

Akaashi is the kind of nurturing soul who hunts in complete silence and rips apart his enemies to feed to his charges.

“My hero,” Daichi teases.

“Rescue yourself,” Akaashi mutters. “Take notes before you waste this entire class period doing nothing.” 

But it’s too late. Daichi wouldn’t mind doing nothing for the rest of his day if it meant Akaashi was next to him making mean comments about science and drawing all over his notebook. Besides, he was too out of it to really pay attention to lecture now. 

Akaashi gives him a look like he knows what Daichi is thinking and bites his lip, half coy and half sly. He places a hand on Daichi’s knee and says, “If I’m going to cause you to drown, I might just have to leave you for your own good.” 

“How about not,” Daichi replies as he places his hand over the one on his knee and laces their fingers together briefly before turning to the professor and jotting down the few formula he can see on the board. 

He can’t tell if Akaashi was kidding or not, but if tough love was a personality type than Akaashi was it, and he didn’t want to risk Akaashi suddenly cutting off all forms of communication for the sake of Daichi's grades. Grades didn't mean as much as seeing Akaashi on a daily basis, fumbling with his coffee order every morning and making snide notes in the margins of all his notes. 

* 

Daichi ends up doing well in math, marginally less well in physics (one chapter, he just skipped one chapter), and swimmingly in the only biology class he will hopefully ever have to take. 

“Midterms are over,” Akaashi says. 

Daichi is sitting in on Akaashi’s post-midterm chemistry lecture. It’s one of those lectures where the professor soothes the battered egos of the kids who aren’t doing so hot in a backhanded way for a few sentences and then dives right into the next chapter. 

“Any plans this weekend?”

“No,” Daichi says airily. Akaashi looks like he’s got a plan in mind. 

“Come over to my place.” 

Daichi pauses and the lecture filters into the silence he leaves. “When the molecules collide, only a certain configuration...” 

“I have one roommate who’s going to be out all weekend,” Akaashi adds the same time he writes another line of notes. Daichi had come to return the favor and try to distract Akaashi from being a proper student, but Akaashi was too good at multi-tasking, at once drawing little doodles on Daichi’s arm and copying down diagrams of all the different molecules that were showing up on the professor’s powerpoint. 

“Yes,” Daichi blurts out.

Akaashi doesn’t look up but Daichi can tell he’s pleased all the same. “Great, just drop on by and bring food.”

* 

Daichi would have thought that Akaashi was finally going to try and put the moves on him but he’d only welcomed Daichi into his home, a disappointing lack of seductive overtures were happening when he opened his door to reveal he was wearing a baggy t-shirt with their school logo splashed across the front and old volleyball shorts. 

Hours later, Daichi asks, "What now?" with his hand resting on his stomach full of takeout. 

Akaashi lazes on the couch in an equally sated state and shrugs. 

“What do you want to do?” 

“What do you do around here?” 

“I don’t know, I guess this is the part where my roommate and I jerk each other off and then maybe fuck around for a bit.” 

The silence following Akaashi's words is deafening. 

“Seriously?” Daichi asks. 

Akaashi smacks a hand into Daichi’s chest and frowns. It’s the same frown he gives Daichi when he's tutoring him in biology and Daichi mixes up the purposes of the smooth and rough endoplasmic reticulums. It hadn’t been that hard to remember that the rough ER was involved in the protein creation process and the smooth ER was basically a lipid-making machine, but pushing Akaashi’s buttons had and has always been kind of fun. They're both very serious people, but they bring out the jokers in each other by trying to out-serious each other.

“No way, he's in a relationship.” 

“And I’m single,” Daichi points out helpfully. He’s pretty sure that Akaashi has caught on to his prankster-ish ways by now, but Akaashi just looks thunderstruck.

“The fuck does that mean.” 

“I don’t know. I’m down if you’re down.” 

Akaashi appears to take a moment to process Daichi’s proposal. “Do you want to go on a date first?”

“We can just get to the good part,” Daichi assures him. He pats Akaashi’s stomach and continues, “Also, we should go into the city and get matching science bros tattoos.” 

“How about no.” 

“Don't be so hasty, all the cool kids are doing it and we're cool kids too."

Daichi looks at Akaashi who meets his eyes steadily. 

Their first kiss is very business-like. Akaashi reaches out and Daichi slides over and they end up horizontal on the couch kissing like it’s going out of style, wet and sloppy the way eager teens do it. Akaashi leaves kisses along Daichi’s jaw that have him shuddering to keep himself propped up on his elbows. Their legs are pressed together tightly and the friction of Akaashi’s leg against the cloth of his jeans is doing things to his higher brain function that shouldn’t be scientifically possible, but is totally happening, turning his brain to mush and putting his heart on overdrive.

“I’ve only fucked someone a handful of none times,” Akaashi states when they break apart. He looks wrecked in the most delicious way, hair a mess and lips bruised and red. He's looking up at Daichi without fear in his eyes as he admits his inexperience. He looks challenging, like he's daring Daichi to make this memorable. It’s all very sexy, and Daichi doesn’t quite know how to handle this, but Akaashi is looking at him like he’d like to tear into him, so things are looking up all things considered. 

“I couldn’t really tell.” 

“Yes, my roommate and I make out for practice.” 

“For real?” 

“No,” Akaashi says flatly.


	8. Kuroo/Daichi, bakery AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakers dealing with hangovers.

"You've got really good hands," Daichi says. 

The first sip of water from the water bottle he finds next to his head is bitter. The lip of the bottle smells like rubbing alcohol and Daichi realizes with a start that it tastes faintly of tequila, but he's already gulped down half the bottle and because his mouth literally feels as dry as the Sahara he finishes all the water before moving to stand. 

The low level throbbing pain behind his eyes grows unbearable as he sits up from the couch he was sprawled against and stumbles to his feet. He hadn't even managed to sleep fully onto the couch, he had just been propped up against its side.

It's only then that he realizes that he's only half dressed. He's rocking a pretty decent mantle of dried strawberry frosting across his shoulders and back. His torso is smeared with what he hopes is vanilla. 

Someone makes an annoyed sounding groan. Daichi spins around to catch a glimpse of Kuroo roll away from a beam of sunlight shining onto a slice of the floor his head had previously occupied. The glimpse was worth the dizziness that punches Daichi in the head.

As Kuroo rolls across the floor, he leaves behind trails of...butter cream frosting? 

The smell of warm, day old vanilla pudding fills his nose as Kuroo first gets onto all fours and then carefully pulls himself upright with the help of a wall. 

"You smell rank," Daichi blurts out. 

His voice is impossibly _loud_. Two pairs of eyes narrow at the sound. The two people in this apartment are obviously hungover. 

"Shhh," Kuroo hisses, his voice barely more than a low growl as he clutches his head and squints as menacingly as he can in Daichi's direction. "The sound traveling through my external acoustic meatus could fucking pierce right through my primary auditory cortex and greet my hippocampus."

"Isn't that what it's supposed to do?" Daichi asks, low and amused but Kuroo just throws him a dirty look akin to a wet cat glaring a faucet, and shuffles into the kitchen. 

"Coffee?" 

The question is asked at a volume barely more than a whisper. Diachi whisper shouts back a 'yes' as he heads deeper into the apartment to find the bathroom. He picks up his shirt off the ground on his way there and is surprised to find that he hasn't started to panic just yet. 

He has his priorities straight right now. Clean up all the frosting decorating his chest first, and then question why he woke up with a hangover in Kuroo's apartment covered in frosting later. 

Upon Daichi's return to the kitchen, he's greeted by the sight of two freshly brewed cups of coffee standing next to two cups of orange juice and Kuroo trying to dab frosting off his chest with a dish towel. 

His mouth is dry again, but he decides that's because he's dehydrated from all the drinking he apparently did and doesn't remember doing last night. 

He doesn't remember a lot about what happened last night but he refuses to panic. Now is not the time. 

"Sit. Eat. I'll lend you clothes so that you're walk of shame isn't so shameful," Kuroo says.


	9. Daichi, Eijun, Daiya no Ace cross over

daichi's got five hundred different responses to hinata's over enthusiasm on the volleyball court. he's got that act down pat. what he doesn't have down pat, is this situation that's going down right now. 

outside, the summer sun is a beautiful golden medal hung in the sky. will you let me rest on a ribbon right next to your heart? victory has to come first before you can wear me. 

victory always first. 

which is what's leading to the situation going down right over yonder, hinata and eijun screaming excitedly little exclamation points and indistinguishable sounds at each other. their eyes gleam. they are kindred spirits burning bright. 

daichi feels very put upon, just watching his youngest cousin and his youngest teammate go at each other. 

eijun waves his arms in a noodly gesture. hinata squeaks with glee and makes a whooshing sound like a cross between a deflating bagpipe and a crying cat. 

'this is certainly something,' isashiki says. he tugs his baseball cap lower over his eyes to shade against the sun. 'you seem like a reasonable guy,' isashiki adds, like he's trying to spare daichi's feelings but really, daichi has no more feelings left, only a yawning pit where his stomach used to be. he's worried, so worried about summer training camp. 

'daichi! daichi! let's go get ice cream now that everyone is here!' eijun shouts happily. the last bus from tokyo pulls into the lot and nekoma streams out. bokuto bounds out from the cabin and runs towards kuroo who drops his bag and stretches out his arms in a melodramatic fashion, catching bokuto mid-leap. 

'bro, i've missed you so much.' 

'bro,' kuroo says solemnly. kuroo and bokuto look soulfully into each other's eyes. 

and so the situation devolves.


	10. Kageyama, magic AU, warlocks

Most mortals notice that there are a number of crows at Karasuno, but don't really take much time to stop and actively care about the fact. 

Birds will go where they want. 

Besides, the crows at Karasuno are clever, hopping up and down stairs as if they were people, landing gracefully on window sills accompanied only by the sound of rustling feathers, and refusing to lower themselves to picking at lunch scraps in plain sight. They wait until after lunch period like the gentlemen they think they are.

Monday morning sees Kageyama sitting on the steps of the main gym sullenly staring at his shoes as Captain Sawamura stands over him. The air is thick and a murder of crows has collected in the area around them, settling down and appearing to get comfortable as the silence around them reaches a crescendo. 

"It's not like anyone noticed," Kageyama mutters under his breath, but the team captain continues to wait with his arms crossed and infinite patience carved into the solemn lines of his frown. 

"Nothing happened!" he continues. "I was just," and here he pauses to collect his thoughts so as to formulate his words in the least incriminating way possible, "I just wanted to ask for some advice." 

Sawamura's expression doesn't change but somehow his stance appears to soften. A crow in the distance lets loose an amused sounding _caw_ in response to Kageyama's embarrassing confession. 

"You have people who are more than willing to help you here." 

Kageyama lets the unsaid implications of his actions hang between them and Sawamura sighs again. 

"Of the three men on the road, one must be my teacher." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kageyama asks. Cryptic pieces of age old advice are awful. It's bad enough if your mortal, but being a warlock and going around misinterpreting proverbs and prophecies that are old as balls can really get you in trouble.

"It means that you can find a teacher anywhere. It means that you could have asked one of us if you were trying to learn how to cast better," Sawamura says with a put upon expression on his face but a kind of low level fondness underlying his tone. Kageyama takes it as a good sign that he's not too angry at him for trespassing onto Seijou territory. He had been caught by a damn guard dog just as he was leaving, and that was the worst part. 

"Iwaizumi just wants to say that he's going to let your transgression slide this time because he knew you before your initiation into Karasuno, but he's warning you that this is the last free pass you get," Sawamura says. 

"Okay. Okay, thank you." 

Daichi looks unimpressed.

"Suga agreed to tutor you in history tonight." 

Kageyama's head snaps up and he looks into his captains steely eyes and knows that there's no way to wriggle out of this situation. 

"I think you really need a reminder about who we are and what we do."

*

"We started out pretty small, like most clans. We didn't really have any ambitions. We were just outcasts and in Nekoma's case, literal street cats," Suga says with a little chuckle at his own joke. 

Kageyama sits as if petrified across from Suga at the table in the group study room of the library they reserved and tries not to be too scared. His ego told him to ask Oikawa for advice on how to cast better, stronger. His ego searched out the strongest and most accessible casting type warlock that he knew, leading him on the hunt to find his old classmate. Except now that he's facing the consequences of his actions, Seijou banning him from their land and Sugawara's potential offense that Kageyama didn't go to him first for advice. Shame simmers in his gut because he had been too hasty in his search for a powerful mentor. 

Suga smiles as he sketches out important events on a timeline diagram. Some of the little doodles he draws begin to move and act out the scenes he describes as he writes out short summaries of the events. 

Kageyama tries to focus, but the importance of each event just flies over his head. He can't quite grasp why he has to know all this ancient history when everything that is important is going to happen in the future. 

"You have a lot of natural propensity, a good intuition when it comes to casting, Kageyama. That means that you're usually good at getting the results you want." Suga says while adding the finishing touch to the latest doodle on his timeline, the flying members of Karasuno's current team flapping across the page. "But your vocabulary is still limited even if you have the power and stamina to just force your simpler spells to do your bidding. I can help with that." 

"I never thought history was very important," Kageyama whispers into the ensuing silence.

"History is always important." 

"No one ever challenged my way of doing things. When I cast, I just thought the other mages would catch up, would understand." 

"Well, sometimes your commands are so complex, but your spells are simple, people get confused. There's no precedent for the way you and Hinata cast together."


	11. Kageyama/Hinata, wedding day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure floof.

Today is a big day for Hinata. He wakes up and hops out of bed. He almost catches himself trying to tiptoe to the bathroom again before he remembers that he's an _adult_ and he doesn't live with roommates or his little sister any longer.

His previous roommate has moved out months ago. 

Brushing his teeth and washing his face on autopilot, Hinata wonders if it would be too much if he gelled his hair. He settles for combing it neatly with some water and hoping it stays flat today. 

It's a special day after all. 

He dresses with care, putting on his cuff links neatly and standing in front of the mirror for a moment to check that his coat is on properly and his shoes are shiny enough. The cuff links were a gift from Kageyama, tiny little birds engraved into the metal so that he could literally have wings to take off from the ground. 

Driving to the venue makes Hinata a little more nervous but he parks without a problem and walks into the appropriate doorway, the butterflies in his stomach settling once he sees Kageyama. 

"Hey! How are you doing?" 

"I'm not supposed to see you until later, am I right?" Kageyama says with a quirk of his lips. 

"Quit being such a stick in the mud," Hinata exclaims and ambles right over to give Kageyama a hug. He's careful not to wrinkle the suit Kageyama is wearing. He's dressed in all black making his white dress shirt stark in comparison. He's got a silly looking tie on and he looks _good_. The suit settles around his shoulders but his smile is too big to be somber. On anyone else it would look like a grin, but he looks like he's just about ready to burst with joy.


	12. Kuroo/Daichi, summer camp counselors AU

Kuroo was laying on Sawamura’s bed trying to take a nap because his cabin full of delightful little campers had set off a stink bomb around high noon, just as a heat wave swept in and trapped every single molecule of the stuff at ground level.

Sawamura’s cabin was blessedly empty, and more importantly, didn’t smell like a corpse party had puked up all of their rotting and putrid guts across the floor. 

On one level, Kuroo was very proud. On another one, he regretted announcing that today was his day off because his campers had taken it to heart with too much intent.

Sawamura’s pillow smelled like sunscreen and soap.

Kuroo tried to close his eyes and tried to get some sleep, but all he ended up imagining was Sawamura’s arm around him after that last game of flag football, blue vs. red.

Sawamura had been very warm and the color had been running high in his cheeks. He’d actually laughed at one of the offhanded quips Kuroo had made, and he’d look so happy that Kuroo hadn’t known what to do with himself. 

Being around Sawamura made him giddy, made him feel like he was perpetually living out a happy memory. The kind that you thought back to on rainy days. 

The kind that fell just out of the grasp of your mind’s eye. Kuroo wanted something more, but even he wasn’t sure what exactly he was looking for. 

Oh man, I have it so bad for him, Kuroo thought.

He had just wanted to take a nap, not think about his _feelings_. 

*

Daichi walked into his cabin expecting it to be dimmer because Kuroo had said he was going to be sleeping there, but was met with the curtains drawn half way across the window like he had left them this morning. 

His campers had been scheduled for some time out on the lake in the morning and he’d had to go with them, so no one had returned to the cabin all day.

Maybe Kuroo had already finished his nap and left. Daichi reached into his bag to fish out his phone, unwrapping his earbuds when he finally found it.

Daichi looked around almost furtively, as if to check that the cabin was completely empty, before unplugging the earbuds. 

No one else is here, he thought gleefully as he pressed play on his favorite song and shimmied over to his bed to grab for his shower caddy that he kept under it. Then he started rummaging through the tiny dresser next to his bed. 

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t fall asleep in the backroom of a club again.” 

Fuck. 

Daichi almost snapped his neck when his head whipped around to see who had spoken.

Kuroo’s head popped up from beneath a pillow and if Daichi wasn’t paralyzed, he would have jumped up and socked Kuroo in the shoulder. 

As is, he just gaped a bit and fumbled his phone to turn off the music. 

“I’m so sorry I woke you! Didn’t make my bed this morning so I thought the shape in my bed was..”

“Was that _EDM_ ,” Kuroo asked in a soft voice. He looked sleepy and soft and a little confused. “I would’ve pegged you as a soft rock kind of guy.” 

Daichi let out a little choked laugh that sounded not unlike a chipmunk screaming in surprise at an oncoming biker. 

Real smooth, Sawamura, his brain said in a scathing tone. He didn’t even know why he was so embarrassed, because if there was anyone who was going to accept his musical tastes as they were, it was Kuroo.

“It’s my favorite song,” Daichi muttered. 

“You have good tastes,” Kuroo yawned. He stretched and the covers fell back to reveal that he had been sleeping with only his boxer briefs on. Daichi found himself looking away even though he would have thought years of changing in locker rooms for volleyball would have trained the reflex out of him. For some reason, it was different when it was Kuroo.

“Yeah, and you’re my favorite thing to wake up to,” Kuroo muttered absently as he swept the his hands along the bed in search of his shirt. 

The way he smoothed his hands over Daichi’s covers looked like an invitation even though Daichi was sure it wasn’t and he quickly picked up a black shirt off of the ground and chucked it at Kuroo. 

“How can you be sure if you’ve only experienced it once?” 

Kuroo blinked at Daichi as he put on his shirt. 

“Are you saying that I should wake up to you more often?” 

“Maybe.” Daichi was unwilling to give up ground and back down from embarrassment. He was sweaty and sticky from sunscreen and sweat and his hopes of relaxing before taking shower were now, literally, circling the drain as he stared up at Kuroo, whose own eyes were sparking with a challenge.

“Yeah?” Kuroo asked.

“Yeah.” 

“Well.”

“So.” 

“There’s movie night two nights from now.” 

Daichi had a sneaking suspicion he knew where this was going, but he nodded for Kuroo to continue anyway. 

“I tend to sleep through movie nights.”

Kuroo had sprawled in the grass like he’d planned to sleep under the stars, movie projector whirring at a counterpoint to each snore, during the last two movie nights. “So I was thinking you should go with me, and wake me up at some point. You know.”

The _before people start throwing popcorn at me _went unsaid.__

__There were a lot of things Daichi was willing to do for science._ _

__This was one of them._ _

__It couldn’t be as bad doing titrations. “I’m doing this for science,” Daichi declared firmly. He was going to have a stopwatch and everything to time when Kuroo fell asleep, how long it took for him to start snoring, and when people were going to start throwing popcorn._ _

__“Yeah, yeah, me too.” Kuroo chirped as he climbed out of Daichi’s bed._ _

__That was an image and a thought Daichi didn’t need as Kuroo stretched legs that went on for miles and stomped into his shoes._ _

__Kuroo gave a jaunty two fingered salute as he headed out._ _

__“See you around, Sawamura.”_ _

__*_ _

__“Oh fuck, I think I just asked Sawamura out on a date,” Kuroo said the next morning while in line for breakfast._ _

__Kenma was on serving duty and looked at Kuroo flatly as he scooped miso soup into a bowl. “Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?”_ _

__“No, the conversation actually happened.”_ _

__Kuroo put the bowl in his tray, careful not to let any slosh out as he moved to get a piece of grilled fish._ _

__“But I mean,” Kuroo said down the line, “I’m just not sure how to interpret what my asking him to go to accompany me to movie night means.”_ _

__“Did he agree?” There were hardly any people up so early, so the line was slow and the dining hall thankfully empty._ _

__“He said it was for science.”_ _

__“But he’s going with you.” Kenma said in the same flat tone._ _

__“Yeah.”_ _

__“Why does it matter if it’s a date or not?”_ _


	13. Kuroo, Pacific Rim AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> second person POV.

You go home for the holidays. You wouldn't want to be at the proving grounds trying to cram years worth of technological innovation into your head, yet you wish you could be anywhere but here. 

People are rebuilding, but nothing is the same. 

Your mother looks at you with moist eyes all the time when you in the house, and frets when you come back from time away. 

Your father laughs boisterously when he gets home from restoration work and brags to all his friends that you’re a cadet, bringing glory home, strong and able to drive all the kaiju right back to where they belong.

You have so many people you can’t let down now. 

One morning you wake up and decide to take a nice, long walk. It might help you feel better about being reduced to a tool meant to exact only revenge. 

You find yourself crossing unfamiliar crosswalks and ducking your head against a brisk wind that carries new and unfamiliar smells to you. You end up near a school and the sight of this mostly intact building shakes you out of your stupor long enough for you to realize that you are truly and utterly lost as fuck. 

Rummaging through your pockets, you fail to find your wallet, which means no ID but more importantly, no change for bus fare. 

It’s as your standing by this unfamiliar bus stop trying to figure out how to get home that you spot a figure running across a four lane road. He’s got a sports bag slung across his shoulders that hits the backs of his knees as he runs across the thankfully empty road and a big relieved smile splashed across his face once he realizes the bus hasn’t arrived just yet. 

“Hey,” you find yourself saying, “do you have enough change for bus fare for two?” You scratch at the back of your neck sheepishly and wait for the boy to catch his breath with his hands on his knees, black sports coat folded around him.

“Are you headed towards Tokyo or away?” he says. “Because this line only heads into the city.” 

You hesitate for a moment before you answer. “Towards.” 

“Yeah?” the boy says, counting out the coins he picks out neatly from a pocket in his bag and places half the stack into your open palm. “I’m going there for a volleyball tournament.” 

“Thank you very much for the loan, and good luck,” you say faintly, just now noticing the fact that he’s wearing knee pads. You were going to play for your high school team too, once upon a time. Of course, that was before Onibaba made landfall and decimated over half of Tokyo in a mere handful of hours, changing the course of your life forever.

He must be your age. The realization hits you just as the bus rumbles to a stop in front of you. You gesture for the civilian to board first. Karasuno Volleyball Club the back of his jacket reads, and perhaps there would have been a time when that would have meant something to you, but now you just blink and think about the military personnel badge and Academy issued gear tucked neatly into the overnight bag sitting on top of your dresser at home. 

You have your own uniform to wear, you think, and try to put thoughts of a life not lived out of your head. The figure of that boy running across the road lingers in your thoughts despite your best efforts though, and you think about him sometimes when you search for a reason to fight.

It’s been months since you’ve been home and in this very moment a fist is rocketing towards you from your left. You can see it but you just can’t move away fast enough so you loosen your jaw and let it the punch connect with the side of your face, the shockwaves race across your zygomatic arch as knuckles clip the hinge of your jaw. 

The image of that same figure running across an empty road flutters through your mind like the hit jiggled loose something in your memory. 

Those moments are worth fighting, you decide as you spit out a glob of red into the sand at your feet. This is why we want to become Rangers, we just want to protect what’s left of our homes along the coasts.


	14. Daichi/Kuroo, corporate AU (set in the future!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Better Off Ted vibes. Slow burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally nothing happens! A previous draft of seventy light years from here to home.

No one could guess what chaos lay beyond the tenth floor at Baby Busters Inc. headquarters. Its quiet lobby and sound proofed conference rooms hid a dark truth from the public.

At any moment while sitting in his twelfth floor cubicle, Daichi could suffer tiny toy dragons flying overhead and puffing out foul smelling fumes from their nostrils. Last week a herd of small, unpainted animatronic elephants sharted cream and strawberry flavored gel all over Asahi’s desk.

The herd then proceeded to trumpet triumphantly for a quarter of an hour. 

Physically being at his place of work was usually enough to fill his quota of misfortune on most days. It was just this particular Friday that was extra frustration. Daichi was suffering an unusual number of mishaps on his way to work.

His multiple alarms had failed to go off, meaning that he hadn’t had to skip breakfast on his rush to get to the train station on time. The carefully prepared flashcards he was supposed to use during a presentation this afternoon had been left on his bed stand. And to top it all off, he arrived to work, out of breath only to remember that he lost his lunch on the train in his rush to get to work on time. 

“Hi,” Daichi says breathlessly as he leans against a wall of his cubicle. “What are you doing here?” 

Tanaka Saeko smiles up at him from his own desk chair and takes a sip of tea from his favorite mug. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry I’m late.” 

“No worries,” Saeko says, “but before you get settled in for the day, let me introduce you to someone new. Walk with me.” 

“Who?” Daichi asks to Saeko’s retreating form. He grabs the mug and takes a fortifying sip of bracingly bitter green tea before hurrying after his supervisor. Saeko weaves through the maze of cubicles with ease, neatly dodging random toys that fly in her way. Daichi envies her a little as he stumbles over the second Mystic 9-ball (One More Way to Indeterminately Grasp at Your Future!) to roll into his path.

“Sawamura Daichi, meet Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

“A pleasure to meet you,” Daichi says automatically before he even rounds the corner. 

“The pleasure is all mine,” a voice purrs. Upon turning the corner, Daichi’s first impression of Kuroo is that his hair looked just about ready to fly away on dark wings and reach a higher purpose. 

When Kuroo stands and reaches out a hand, Daichi doesn’t hesitate to take it. He tries to make sure his handshake comes across as firm and strong. This guy is the cunning type, Daichi thinks as Kuroo releases his hand.

“He’s got a design team, and so do you, Sawamura,” Saeko says. “Your two teams will each be working on the best next generation of Spicy Snow SpritesTM to introduce release this upcoming holiday season. The rest of your team has already been briefed already.”

Daichi frowns as Kuroo returns to his seat and begins to spin in his chair from side to side lazily, feet floating a few inches off the floor as he wobbles the joystick on his armrest.

“If the board decides that your design is best, then the winning team gets to go off planet in December to present their product to the big wigs on Jupiter.” 

“Wait, my team was supposed to be working on the Adorable Yeti,” Daichi says.

“We...we decided that the potential for shedding was too high,” Saeko says, her expression a little regretful. “It was going to require too much fur. Your project has been terminated.” She reaches out to grasp Daichi’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Good luck you two,” she says at last. The even clicks of her heels retreating sounding like a death knell to Daichi’s ears. 

“Adorable Yeti?” Kuroo asks.

“Yeah,” Daichi says faintly. Turns out I didn’t need those flash cards today, he thinks in an attempt to cheer himself up. “It was going to be the cutest abomination you had ever seen.”

The crushing disappointment written large on his face must be obvious to Kuroo, because even though they’re near strangers, he makes a sympathetic noise and looks away as Daichi blinks a little too quickly to try and clear some dust from his eyes. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Kuroo says after the appropriate amount of time passes and Daichi remains standing in his cubicle, still a little shell shocked. “Give me your number.”

Daichi rattles off his cell obediently. 

Kuroo’s thumbs fly as he types something quickly and then tucks his phone back into a little cubby in his desk. “I just sent you my address, so that you can come over on Sunday to my birthday bash. Bring your whole team if you want. We could all do with some joy this week.” 

“But why?” Daichi finds himself asking. 

“We were working on Lucky Cat for, like, a year. Then they pulled us off the project two weeks ago, put us in limbo, and then dragged us out only to drop us into holiday production hell.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Come on, invite your team. It’ll be a cool bonding experience,” Kuroo says, his smile bright and earnest. “We’re going to be celebrating _me_ after all.” 

“You just want more presents,” Daichi says. He glares at Kuroo half-heartedly, but at least he’s feeling something that’s not weighty disappointment. 

“No way, I’ll be providing food and refreshments!” 

“Okay,” Daichi says. “Expect me there.”

“Great! Come dressed to impress.”

Daichi just gives Kuroo another flat look and marches back to his own cubicle, already drawing up plans on how to make sugar spun wings that can actually carry a sprite into the air.

*

Subj: Festive Friday is almost here!

Baby Busters’ annual Festive Friday is coming up. Don’t miss out on a chance to mingle with your co-workers! Business casual wear is mandatory.  
When: December 5th, 8:00 pm-11:30 pm  
Where: Ballroom D  
Who: You and one guest.

Daichi hadn’t seen the point in worrying about something that wasn’t so immediate. He had better things to worry about, like how he was supposed to program that snow sprite to grow spicy sour straws for hair.

It wasn’t until he was sitting down at the coffee shop down the street from his office did the implication of another year’s Festive Friday fully hit him.

“Any ideas about who your plus one is going to be?” Michimiya asks, sipping on her hot chocolate casually. 

Festive Friday was nothing more than a chance for his co-workers to gossip and flirt with the buffet table in nice shoes and shiny accessories. 

“Don’t need to bring a plus one since I’m going to be spending the whole night with Asahi and Yuu,” Suga says easily. 

He and Michimiya exchange eyebrow wiggles that have Daichi snorting, which he immediately regrets as they turn to regard him with the same scrutinizing gaze. Michimiya smiles with all her teeth. “What about you, Daichi?”

“I don’t need a plus one this year,” Daichi says firmly and takes a sip of his latte. 

“I’m glad that you’re finally okay with going alone,” Michimiya says. 

Suga makes a noise of agreement and they spend the rest of lunch throwing around ideas for future products.

“I’m sorry about you guys having to work on those Snow Sprites,” Michimiya says and stands from her seat. “It’s the 2000’s equivalent of the iPod. How many generations has it been?” 

“We’re sixty species into the iPod with no signs of stopping,” Suga says as they walk out of the one shop at a time, each of them tapping their phones against a strip of light that flashes green and beeps to confirm each of transaction as they pass. “As for Snow Sprites, this year is going to make the twenty seventh iteration of an age old classic a reality.” 

“Wow,” Michimiya laughs. “Was that directly from the tagline they sell that stuff with?” 

“It’s going to be part of our pitch,” Daichi chimes in.

“Amazing.”

“We know,” Suga says easily, and goes on to challenge Michimiya to do better. The walk back to Baby Busters’ headquarters makes the heads of some drivers turn, because three fully grown adult humans are gesticulate wildly in a manner that is not usually seen in full daylight. 

“The wings should flap like this!” Suga says emphatically. He imitates the proper motion sprite wings should make as they step into an elevator.

Daichi feels his phone vibrate in his pocket and takes it out to check his messages. 

“Do you have a plus one?” a message from Kuroo reads. Daichi had almost forgotten that he had given his number to him. At the end of his birthday celebration, Kuroo had given Daichi his number. He hadn’t thought much about returning the favor. 

Daichi shoots back a quick, “Nope.” 

“We should be each other’s plus ones! }:)” comes zooming back. 

The elevator pings and the doors open to the seventh floor. A single sharply dressed business man steps in. 

“I don’t think that’s how plus one’s work,” Daichi types.

“I wonder what they’re working on on the eleventh floor today,” Michimiya says in a loud whisper, still turned as if she was just talking to the two of them. Suga grins and they all share a look. Daichi tucks his phone away, and grins playfully, gesturing for Michimya to go first. 

Michimiya says in a stage whisper, “Didn’t they try to grow a firebreathing chickens that one time and ended up setting the ceiling on fire? Twelfth floor was furious!”

“Daichi’s texting someone on that floor right now,” Suga says in a similar fashion. “They say that the prototype of a baby unicorn they were working on gored someone. An ambulance flew up, but they don’t know if they made it in time.” 

The business man startles when the elevator pings past the tenth floor. 

“Don’t worry,” Daichi says. “They’re fine. Did you hear about the thirteenth floor? A bunch of tiny animatronic dogs crawled into the air vents and won’t stop imitating every sound they hear, so don’t worry if you echo or anything.”

The fourteenth floor arrives with a pleasant ping and the business man steps out warily, his hands clutching his phone protectively as he edges onto the floor with mincing steps. 

There’s only time for high-fives and a round of ‘good game’s’ all around before the seventeenth floor arrives too quickly.

Daichi steps out of the elevator and Suga falls into step beside to him, still chuckling.

“See you guys later!” Michimiya says and waves. Daichi and Suga wave back just as the doors closes. 

“Time to head back to work,” Suga says brightly and Daichi nods. 

“Seriously, about those sprite wings...”

*

Daichi would have missed Festive Friday entirely and sat around of his couch playing old first person shooter games on an antique Xbox if his house hadn’t chimed a reminder at eight o’clock on the dot.

Walking into Ballroom D was an experience. 

Daichi is met is a blur of sounds clinking glasses and tinkling laughter are clear and constant background noise as he takes in the modified ceiling. It’s projecting a canopy of leaves while all sorts of birds flutter through winding branches.

“This is a nice view,” a voice behind Daichi says. He whirls around to see Kuroo leaning against the doorframe. Daichi is embarrassed to realize that he had paused in the doorway to gaze up at the digital scenery above. 

“It’s great emersive tech, but I think I see a parrot and an owl in cahoots over there, which can’t be right” Daichi says as they wander further into the room. 

“I wasn’t just talking about the ballroom,” Kuroo says. 

Daichi gives him a questioning look. “Uh, yeah, the table arrangements are even more stunning this year.” 

Kuroo laughs and agrees readily, so Daichi figures he hadn’t been wrong to point out the riot of flowers and colored reflective panels sprouting from the center of each table. 

A rotating waiter platform scuttles by on ten legs, so he snags two shot glasses of clear liquid and passes one to Kuroo who accepts his with a murmured thanks. They clink their glasses and drink.

On the first sip, the liquor tastes like apples and sugar, but when he swallows it burns all the way down his throat, making him feel teary eyed and feverish. Daichi sniffs back manful tears.

“Good returns this year,” Kuroo says. 

He looks good in the faintly dappled light filtering through the green leaves overhead. His teeth are a little crooked, Daichi thinks, and feels charmed by that imperfect detail of Kuroo’s smile. His hair looks soft and fluffy, falling into his face in such a way that has Daichi’s fingers itching to sweep them away and his heart twisting in his chest at the thought of touching Kuroo in such a familiar way. 

Daichi swallows a little thickly before smiling back.

“Yep. I, uh, I think I hear someone calling me from other there. I’m just going to head,” Daichi points vaguely in the opposite direction and laughs nervously. 

Kuroo’s smile fades a little and Daichi wants to smack himself for being so rude. He reaches out hesitantly to take Kuroo’s empty glass, almost as an apology, his fingers lingering as he passes his hands over Kuroo’s. “I’ll see you later,” Daichi declares more boldly than he intends, and walks away quickly, praying that he’ll find a familiar face in the direction he’d headed. 

“Over here!” Suga calls just as Daichi spots the two tables full of familiar faces. 

“Hey guys,” Daichi says as he settles into a seat between Nishinoya and Ryuu. “How’s the food?” 

Hinata looks up from across the table with tears in his eyes and says soulfully, “The meat is delicious.”

“The drinks are stellar,” Ryuu says from his left and taps a glass of nuclear blue liquor that _sparkes_ , small stars swirling in turbulent waves.

“Not much to complain about at all,” says Nisnhinoya as he leans back in his chair and grabs a plate of sugary treats from a passing waiter to share. 

“I already got some food for you,” Suga says. Nishioya’s passes Daichi a plate of food. “I figured you’d be late because you’d forget.”

“I got here before Kuroo,” Daichi protests. 

Suga and Azumane share a look. 

“This isn’t really a competition of who can get here the latest,” Suga says a little loftily as Daichi hunts around under his napkin for chopsticks. 

“Thanks for the food” Daichi chimes and digs in.

The hum of familiar voices is soothing. It’s not hard to laugh at old inside jokes and make teasing comments that they’ll come back to later and remember as new inside jokes. Daichi finds himself relaxing into his chair, eased by the knowledge that he’s with good friends and good company.

“This is my jam!” Nishinoya exclaims with barely suppressed glee. 

Tables are rolling back into a different formation, allowing a dance floor to appear near the middle of the room. Quiet synth beats and a husky voice fill whatever empty silence is left in the room as people turn from talking to dancing, filing into the empty space without hesitation and breaking out their latest moves. 

“Suga, Kiyoko, you have come with me!” Nishinoya says. Before he leaves for the dance floor, he swoops in and gives Azumane a quick peck on the cheek that has the him blushing. “We can dance together some other time,” he says, fingers gently trailing through Azumane’s long hair. 

Daichi looks away quickly, cheeks burning at having caught sight of such an intimate moment. He makes a grab for a tray of shot glasses from the next passing waiter and Azumane helpfully grabs the second tray lemon wedges and a tiny white shaker of salt.

“This is pretty old fashioned,” he comments.

“Won’t hear any complaints from me,” Daichi says as he throws back a glass. 

Daichi hadn’t exactly come to Festive Friday with an agenda, but if he had had one, toeing the line between tipsy and drunk would not have been part of his list of things to do at a company dinner. 

“You’re really lucky, Asahi,” Daichi hiccups, He uses his arms to gesture at Suga and Nishinoya on the dance floor, dancing close and intimate, smiles only for each other as in the crush of people, and nearly knocks over the row of shot glasses lined up neatly in front of him.

“Yeah, I know,” Azumane says quiet as he looks on. “I worry I don’t deserve them sometimes. 

“No way, you’re a catch yourself,” Daichi says, reaching out to give his drinking partner a hearty clap on the back. He makes him cough, but he’s too busy watching Kuroo a few tables down to notice. 

Azumane follows the direction of his gaze and asks, “Why don’t you just go talk to him?” 

“It’s not that easy! I don’t want to, and you can’t make me!” Daichi blurts out. The room is getting pretty warm and he’s tugging at the collar of his shirt to have something to do with his hands. “Hey, hey, Asahi, I don’t think I told you this before, but I’m glad your back.” 

“Y-yeah, me too.” 

“We’re going to win this thing. We’re going to fucking Jupiter,” Daichi says seriously. He holds out another glass and Azumane raises one of his own and they clink on it, throwing their head back to down the bitter liquor. 

“We are. I’m excited to work with you guys again, and I know that we’re stronger than ever now.” 

“Damn right,” Daichi says firmly and reaches out to clap Azumane’s shoulder again. He uses the leverage to help himself stand and only wobbles a little as he gets to his feet. “Speaking of winning, I have to go win something else.” 

“I’m rooting for you, Daichi,” Azumane says. His tone is encouraging, but his grin is amused. Daichi ignores the thought that his behavior is anything other than incredibly acceptable and very predictable. He makes determined steps over to where Kuroo is sitting alone, scowling intently at his phone.


	15. Kuroo/Daichi, one of them is an android

”KT7441 arrives on his doorstep Friday night.

Daichi’s house rolls the package in without any trouble. His worries about any damage that could have been inflicted during the shipping process are eased when he sees how _solid_ the shipping box looked.

The box that’s sitting in his living room looks a lot like a coffin. It’s shiny surface is marred by the occasional barcode racing across it’s silver lid. DELIVERED AT 19:32 streams across its sides. 

Ignoring dinner in favor of tapping in the access code, Daichi steps back slowly as a quiet hiss fills the room and the lid of the box slides away. 

“Hello,” KT7441 says pleasantly. Its eyes are glow molten gold and its smile is a little crooked. Its hair looks ready to fly away on dark wings, reaching for a higher purpose even as the android sits in its box waiting for Daichi’s next orders. 

“Uh,” Daichi gulps as those same golden eyes weigh on him unblinkingly. “Housing Unit, please sync with Nekoma product KT7441.”

His house chimes an affirmative and the android sitting in Daichi’s living room twitches, blinking rapidly. 

“Sawamura Daichi, what services do you require today?”

Daichi asks, rather forgetfully if he’s really honest with himself, “What should I call you?” He can call this android whatever he wants. 

“It’s a pleasure to serve you, Sawamura-san” it says like it hadn’t heard him at all. He sucks in a breath and finds himself mildly disappointed. He promises himself that he’ll find a name for his new android, since he can’t keep calling it KT7441. 

“The nearest open socket is next to the couch,” Daichi says, gesturing around his tiny living room, “so you can charge comfortably.” 

“I have no need to charge. My powersource is much like the human heart, self replenishing."

“Right. Well. I don’t really need anything right now, since I was about to eat dinner.”

“I am a skilled conversationalist in 124 languages.” 

“Okay,” Daichi says, uncertain of what to do with this new information. “Okay, why don’t you come and sit next to me while I eat and you mess around on the Internet for a bit?

The rest of the night goes by in a similar fashion. Daichi constantly being startled by what his new android can do and the KT model dropping fun facts about itself in a perpetually bland and cheerful attempt to serve. 

By the time KT is sitting with unnerving stillness on the couch with a useless blanket thrown over his shoulder, Daichi is ready to call this whole idea off. He doesn’t _need_ to bring someone with him off planet next month when he goes to that business conference that had his boss strongly encouraging he bring a mobile AI system to. 

“You’ll need someone to help out when you're journeying through space, and you know how airlines don’t charge oxygen fees when you bring an android with you!” she’d said.

The Nekoma series wasn’t even supposed to hit the public AI market for another two months, so Daichi wasn’t even sure how his boss got her hands on a model, but he knows better than to look at gift horse in the mouth. The Nekoma series was was designed to be flexible, each in the series able to be programmed to act in just about any capacity. 

Maybe that was why KT had kept relaying to Daichi the scope of his skills, he had probably been trying to gauge the situation because Daichi didn’t have any concrete directions for him to follow. 

The problem was that Daichi didn’t really have any. “Only the best for our very own!” his boss had said and next thing he knew he had a shipping order in his email and an access code to one KT7441 in his inbox the week after without the huge hit to his credit account like he expected. He wasn’t exactly sure why he needed an android to go to a business conference, then again he’d never been as far out into space as he was preparing to go next month. 

Maybe his boss knew something he didn’t about deep space travel.

Maybe what Daichi needed wasn’t something the current KT had to offer. 

“I’m an engineer,” Daichi mutters to himself as he brushes his teeth and stares into his own very tired eyes in his bathroom mirror. “I can jailbreak an android that I helped design. It won’t be that hard.” 

 

He’ll come to regret his own words in due time, but Saturday sees Daichi prying off a panel at the back of KT’s neck all the same.

Daichi returns from work on Monday and is met with the sight of Kuroo is sitting behind a table full of baked goods that appear to be praising their mighty overlord, a monstrous cake that reads ‘Happy Birthday, Kuroo!’ 

Daichi sputters as he steps in and takes off his shoes. 

“How?” 

“The Internet _provides_ ,” Kuroo says reverently as he makes an expansive gesture that manages to cover everything on the table and include some of the unopened boxes of presents that are scattered all across the kitchen and living room floor. 

“Really,” Daichi asks, stepping closer to get a better look at the birthday cake. 

Kuroo smiles then, big and bright. He looks so proud when he reveals, “I’ve been in some chatrooms. My profiles say my birthday is today and my friends had gifts delivered. Don’t worry, the house scanned everything before bringing it all in.” 

“You must have met a lot of people,” Daichi observes.

“Something like that,” Kuroo says, at the same time gleefully sticking two wax candles into his own birthday cake and lighting them with actual fire from a matchbook Daichi most definitely does not keep in the house. 

In retaliation, Daichi licks a wet strip right up Kuroo’s palm, which earns him an unimpressed look. 

“Do you trust me?” Kuroo says as he brings the lights back up, this time with a wave of his free hand, the not pressed into Daichi’s face.

“After that last stunt you pulled? Like hell I trust you with anything ever again,” Daichi says, as close to pouting as he’ll let himself because he’s a grown man.

Kuroo puts on a wounded expression. The way Kuroo’s brow furrows and his lips twists, that’s all him, and no program could replicate that. Something twists in Daichi’s gut at the thought of another model in the Nekoma series wearing Kuroo’s face while embodying none of his personality. When Kuroo says, “I’m the birthday boy, and you should do what I want.” Daichi can’t help agreeing because that’s such a _Kuroo_ thing to say.

“Close your eyes.” 

Daichi does and the smell of lemon and sugar grows stronger as time passes. He tries to wait patiently until Kuroo is suddenly speaking into his ear, sounding much too close when he declares in a singsong voice, “Happy birthday to me!”


	16. Bokuto/Kuroo, casual cat intercourse

“That was cool,” Bokuto says a little breathlessly.

“Casual sex with a friend only rates a cool on your meter?” Kuroo asks. He flings out a hand and smacks on Bokuto’s chest, the sound hollow and ringing in the still air. “How often do you do this?”

The yelp Bokuto let’s out is very gratifying. 

“I’ve only done this with you! And you’re, like, I don’t know, a total bro.” 

“You’re my best bro too.” 

“This doesn’t mean we’re like ‘together’ does it?” 

They’re laying side by side, pants unbuttoned and hair a mess, slowly coming down from a post orgasmic haze. Their view of the sky is partially obscured by the waving stalks of grass hiding them from the prying eyes of impressionable first years running around in the main house as summer training camp rolls to a _climactic_ end.

“You asking me out?” Kuroo asks as he turns to squint menacingly at Bokuto. 

Bokuto blinks owlishly at Kuroo and then laughs in in his face. Kuroo laughs too, his hand resting against the bare skin of Bokuto’s shoulder, warm and solid. Bokuto’s shirt had been sacrificed for the great good, and lays a ways away probably hardening into a solid mass of sweat and spunk. 

“How about nah. I like how we are now.” 

“Me too,” Kuroo says and rolls over in the grass to hover over Bokuto, bending down viper-quick to suck a bruise the exact shape of his mouth into the skin of Bokuto’s collarbone. His hand skitters down Bokuto’s side and squeezes his hip playfully, intentions clear in the pressure of his fingertips.

Bokuto laughs, but the sound turns into a growl as he tries to return the favor just seconds later. 

That’s the night a rumor starts going around the backlot of the training camp actually houses dangerous big cats the coaches unleash on unruly players when they’re not training diligently enough. 

Did you see the way the tall grassed moved like two leopards were tussling? And those growls? No way there aren’t freaky supernatural felines stalking the grounds! You be the one to slack off at practice today and see if you aren’t eaten alive.


	17. Kindaichi, daemons

He’s in his second year of junior high and dead tired from the previous night’s volleyball practice. His mom’s calling him from downstairs to get ready for school and his legs feel like ten thousand pounds of lead but he drags himself out of bed to get dressed. It’s only as he’s going down the stairs, Himiko’s comforting presence at the edges of his conscience, does his sleep addled brain think to wonder where she is physically. The edgy feeling he gets when she stands too far away doesn’t drag at him, so she must be close. 

“This is meant to be,” Himiko whispers and that’s how Kindaichi knows that she’ll always be _Myrmica rubra_. 

*

Kindachi’s daemon is a queen.

*

“Was this the plan from the start?” Kindaichi jokes. 

Himiko can’t emote the way she did when she spent a month as a boston terrier, but he can feel her laughing at him all the same. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she says affectionately, antennae waving as she stands on the tip of his pencil.


End file.
